


I expect I'll live. And if I don't, it's Spock's fault

by sleepymccoy



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Death Threats, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, at least i think it is its not that long so maybe medium burn, nearly kiss, secret service au, strangers to mutual dislike to grudging respect to lovers maybeee keep the mystery alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Bones gets death threats, reasons are explained in the first few paragraphs, but really i don't go into it much and it's just a way to get secret service detail Spock having to spend time with Bones! Where they kinda don't get along but maybe do and things are full of sexual tension but are they gonna manage to kiss????





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

Tuesday

  
  


Doctor McCoy is a prominent surgeon who will save the life of anyone put in front of him. He has saved people he wasn’t sure society would thank him for, but he has never let his personal opinion stop him from trying his hardest. He has healed criminals and assholes, and he’s not ashamed of that. And he is absolutely not ashamed to have saved the life of a young Andorian boy who had been beaten to an inch of his life by a xenophobic sub group of humans whose biggest grievance with the boy was that he was dating a human. Doctor McCoy could hold his head up high as he described his pride at saving Xatesh.

 

The death threats were an inconvenience, though. McCoy had ignored them mostly, but he’d mentioned it to his friend Jim who immediately insisted on seeing every single one. Next thing McCoy knew he was sitting in his office waiting for an InterPlanetary Protection Service detail. Apparently his death threats were convincing and scary enough to warrant this response. That, and Jim had called in a favour with Ambassador Pike. 

 

So McCoy sat, waiting.

 

Finally, someone knocked on his door. McCoy called them in, and they entered.

 

He started talking immediately, barely glancing at McCoy as he checked the room. “First thing I’m going to do is teach you a reliable door knock. Anyone with the IPPS will knock like this.” He rapped his knuckles three times against McCoy’s desk top, paused, then tapped two times very quickly. He looked at McCoy expectantly.

 

“You have ridiculous hair,” McCoy said. He had a bowl cut. Who has a bowl cut in this day and age. 

  
The man raised an eyebrow and turned away to study the window. “While you are technically  _ the boss _ there are certain things I will insist upon. I will be in your company in public, you will stay within my eyeline at all times. I reserve the right to remove you from a place I deem inadequately safe and I reserve the right to physically move you if I think you are at risk. I can stay outside your office if you prefer, however if you feel safer I can stay in your office with you. Agent Chekov has been assigned to your house, you will meet him tonight. Do you have a car?”

 

McCoy blinked. “Yes, I have a car, but it's being held hostage at the garage until I pay him an unreasonable fee. What does physically move me mean? What’s your name?”

 

He stopped roaming the room and stood in front of McCoy’s desk. “You will be using the Service’s car for the foreseeable future. Physically move refers to any change in your physical presence. For instance, I can insist I walk beside the road on the sidewalk. Or I can insist you use a particular toilet cubicle. Or I can pick you up and carry you off if I deem it necessary.”

 

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out quietly. “And what's your name?” he asked tensely.

 

“I am Spock. Would you prefer me to stay in your office or wait outside the door?”

 

“Outside, please.”

  
  
  
  


Wednesday

  
  
  
  


McCoy had managed to avoid his security guard for most of the day yesterday, but today he had had to visit patients in ward and, not only did he have to put up with Spock being there, Spock made his presence known. He’d get in the way, open doors, enter rooms first then usher McCoy in, glare at people who got too close. McCoy found himself apologising a lot.

 

“So how serious is this?” McCoy asked. Spock kept insisting on walking just behind him, but also opening every door. It was quickly growing tiresome. 

 

“You have an IPPS detail, Doctor,” Spock said, waving him through the next door. McCoy wondered if Spock realised just how many doors there were in a hospital. 

 

“Yeah, but that's just because of Pike. This is small beans for you guys, right?” 

 

Spock paused at the main exit. He turned to McCoy and sighed slightly. “The threats you received are detailed and calm. We are taking them seriously.”

 

Spock pushed the door open and checked the immediate area before waving McCoy through. 

 

“They've calmed down now, though,” McCoy said. He pointed down the street to the coffee place he went to, indicating which direction he was headed in. Spock strode alongside him, giving McCoy the feeling he was being closely watched despite how Spock’s eyes flickered across everyone they passed.

 

“Why do you assume that?” Spock asked.

 

“I got one every few hours for about a day or two. I haven't had one since breakfast. Look at that, Sulu’s here!” McCoy pointed at a temporary coffee stand in excitement. “He sets up when he has a day off uni, I can’t for the life of me figure out his schedule. Am I allowed to change my mind and go get a coffee there? Or did you call my usual place and have them empty it?”

 

“You’re not the President, they won’t clear a store for you. We can go to your coffee stand, if you prefer,” Spock said. He mumbled into his earpiece about a change of direction while McCoy walked off and ordered a coffee. 

 

Spock stayed back and McCoy breathed a sigh of relief. Any time Spock was more than a meter and a half away was a moment of comfort for McCoy. He managed a brief chat with Sulu about his course before Sulu asked about Spock.

 

“So,” Sulu grinned at him while making his coffee. “Over-protective boyfriend?”

 

“Protection service. I got some death threats from some bucket headed, racist sons of bitches.”

 

“Shit.” Sulu handed him his coffee. “That sounds awful. Are you alright?”

 

“I expect I’ll live,” McCoy muttered, nodding his thanks. “And if I don’t, it’s Spock’s fault.” McCoy grinned at Sulu as he walked back over to Spock.

 

“We intercepted them,” Spock said by way of greeting. They turned to walk back towards the hospital.

 

“You what?”

 

“The continued death threats, you gave us access to your email and we have been intercepting them.”

 

McCoy stopped walking, enjoying a moment of satisfaction as Spock went an extra pace before glaring at him. “Access, not editing rights! I want to see the emails.”

 

Spock seemed to physically calm himself for a moment, before responding. “I recommend against it, Doctor,” he said softly.

 

McCoy started walking again, speeding past Spock without thought. “I don't give a damn, it's my life and it's my email.”

 

“Doctor, they include photos. You don't need to see that,” Spock said, keeping up with him easily. 

 

McCoy paused as he fished his identity card out of his pocket to get them back into the hospital “Photos?” he repeated quietly.

 

“Of you,” Spock said. He moved McCoy aside so that he could open the door for him. “We received one two hours ago that had a photo of you at breakfast. And one three hours before that of you at home.” 

 

“At home,” McCoy repeated blankly. He wasn’t fully taking in what Spock was saying.

 

“Did you wear a starfleet jumper recently while eating pasta?”

 

McCoy fell quiet and thought. They reached his office before he spoke. “It's Jim's jumper. That was last night.” 

 

McCoy shut the door to his office in Spock’s face, not wanting to hear whatever he had to say next. He sighed and reopened it.

 

“I don't want to see them,” McCoy said. Spock nodded and McCoy closed the door again. 

  
  
  


Thursday

  
  


McCoy rounded the corner in annoyance. He'd put up with Spock nagging him about his jumper for most of the walk home. Well, he hadn't really put up with it, he'd fought Spock for fifteen minutes. Spock wasn't letting up. McCoy had simply never met someone who had the stubbornness to fight him on every point. It was a damn good jumper, and if it happened to have a design that closely resembled an Andorian on the front, followed by the words Welcome, well, that just made it all the more pertinent.

 

McCoy stopped, leaving Spock to step past him. Spock turned to tell him off, but McCoy was angrily storming towards his house.

 

“You didn’t,” McCoy called. Jim, who was sitting on his front steps, looked up and grinned.

 

“I might’ve,” Jim said. The agent at McCoy's door looked meaningfully at Spock. 

 

McCoy stood directly in front of Jim and crossed his arms. “You tried to break into my house again, four days after arranging a protection detail for me?”

 

Jim leaned back onto the steps. “Look, firstly I want to point out that I’ve never tried to break into your house before, in the past I’ve always succeeded. Having said that, this was foolish.” Jim glanced over at Spock and Chekov, who were doing their formal exchange of responsibility. “He won’t shake my hand because he’s been holding his gun since he caught me halfway through your front window.”

 

“You are an  _ idiot _ .”

 

Jim smiled at him warmly. “That’s not the the brightest jumper to be wearing,” he said, nodding at McCoy. 

 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I know, he’s been telling me,” he said with an annoyed glare at Spock. 

 

Spock had walked over to join them. “He won’t listen,” he said to Jim. 

 

Jim watched Spock and McCoy glare at each other for a moment before he looked at McCoy in disappointment. “Oh, Bones, don’t take your anger out on him,” he said softly.

 

McCoy rounded on Jim and pointed at him furiously. “I am fully aware that my anger should be pointed at you, but don’t worry. I have plenty to go around.” He stalked up his steps to Agent Chekov and nodded his greeting. “He’s allowed into my house whenever, Agent,” McCoy said, indicating Jim.

 

Chekov smiled and agreed, having clearly found the whole thing quite amusing. 

 

Jim stood up while McCoy struggled with his keys and held his hand out to Spock. “I’m Jim Kirk.”

 

“Agent Spock,” Spock said, nodding his head politely. He ignored the offered hand.

 

“He’s not shaking my hand either!” Jim cried. McCoy leaned against the open doorframe and watched him in exasperation. “Are you guys just not allowed to shake hands?”

 

“He’s Vulcan, Jim. Don’t touch,” McCoy said, feeling a smile creep onto his face as Jim flung his arms around in offense. “Let’s go in, it’s cold. Where’s my food?”

 

“The food I kindly brought here for you is in the fridge. Unless Agent Rasputin back there lied and just threw it across the floor.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> small chapter, little chapter. they still dont like each other

Friday

  
  


McCoy ate his breakfast quickly, pulling a shoe on with his free hand. Spock would already be at his door, waiting with infuriating patience for McCoy to leave. He'd been waiting for him everyday so far, scaring the living shit out of McCoy each time he emerged in his semi caffeinated state. McCoy hated punctual people. 

 

He grabbed his toothbrush and dialed Christine's number, rushing out the door still scrubbing his teeth. He nodded at Spock as he passed, beelining for a bus that would not wait for him.

 

McCoy had a hurried and momentarily furious conversation with Christine, made to last longer because he had to keep repeating himself around the toothbrush. He assumed, based on how Christine hadn't quit, that she found his inability to behave like a functioning adult endearing, rather than exasperating.

 

McCoy pulled up his schedule, still ignoring the Vulcan next to him.

 

Spock cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you for explaining to your friend that Vulcans prefer to not shake hands,” He said quietly.

 

“Hm? What?” McCoy grunted. He turned his phone off and faced Spock. “No problem. Look, I was meant to be working in the Emergency room today, Christine says you vetoed it.”

 

Spock paused a beat before answering. “Yes,” he said.

 

“Well, un-veto it, please,” McCoy said angrily. 

 

“No.”

 

“This is my job! You can't fuck with my job!” 

 

Spock sighed. “I will not let you be in a crowded room full of chaos and distractions. I cannot vett the people in the room before hand as they just walk in off the street-”

 

“Yes, usually because of a medical emergency!” McCoy interrupted. 

 

“They could be anyone, they could be carrying anything. No,” Spock said with finality.

 

McCoy crossed his arms and glanced at Spock. “I said please,” he pointed out, annoyed with the sulk he heard in his voice. They finished the ride to the hospital in silence.

  
  
\- 

Monday

  
  
\-   


McCoy was at his desk trying to decide if the shopping trip with Spock and Scotty yesterday afternoon had been a disaster or just unfortunate. Spock had started by searching Scotty, stating the his loose jumper could be used to hide any number of possible threats. Scotty had taken it in good humour, even giggling when Spock inadvertently tickled him. McCoy, however, had been tempted to try and ditch Spock in the suit shop and just go to a pub with Scotty.

 

Scotty had been treating the Secret Service element of McCoy's life as something of a joke, enjoying asking Spock questions he wasn't allowed to answer. But when a loud noise had sent Spock sprinting to McCoy's side to protect him, Scotty had sobered up for a while. Of course, McCoy hadn't been in a mood to discuss it with Scotty in any detail because Spock had just flown into his fitting room and pushed him against a wall. McCoy had had his pants undone and no shirt on, and he had hardly been expecting a firm body against his. Especially one attached to such an unpleasant personality. Spock had not seen it necessary to apologise. He had, however, seemed slightly greener for a while afterwards, so perhaps he was sorry.

 

Scotty had decided, after much bluster, that he was more offended that Spock had left him to die while protecting McCoy. McCoy had also managed to keep conversation away from mechanics as Scotty’s license to work with electronics was definitely expired and McCoy wasn't sure how much of a stickler Spock was. He expected he was as by the book as people came. Also, Scotty still had McCoy's little car, and he didn't want it to become evidence in an investigation.

 

They had, in the end, managed to find a suit each, so McCoy would classify the shopping trip as a success.

 

McCoy was roused from his thoughts by a loud disturbance outside his door. Someone was yelling for him, over the top of Spock's objections.

 

McCoy quickly went to his door, opening it. “What the hell is going on?”

 

“Doctor,” Paramedic Richards said quickly, before Spock had a chance to speak. “Denobulan female, early teens, severely crushed on her right side.”

 

“File,” McCoy said. The file appeared in his hand. “Where is she?” he asked, scanning the first page for possible complications to the surgery.

 

“They're prepping her in operating room seven,” Richards said, turning to walk McCoy to the room. McCoy followed him, still reading the file. McCoy like Richards, he was a large bulk of a man who parted the teeming corridor like Moses and the red sea, all McCoy had to do was stay close behind him and he'd have no problems reading his file while he walked.

 

He didn't notice but Spock had, of course, followed him the whole way. Once he was scrubbed and in surgery he did notice Spock standing in the viewing room, off to the side, watching closely. McCoy ignored him and got to work.

  
  
  
  
\-----   
  
  


The girl was at a point where McCoy would not be needed for twenty minutes. Her blood was being run through a filter and surgery had to pause to ensure she had enough blood in her system to keep her mind active. McCoy paged out and asked reception for a sandwich. By the time he had gotten his hands out of the girl and left, Spock was waiting for him with his sandwich.

 

McCoy ate quickly, not speaking. When he finished he looked back inside and decided he had another minute.

 

“We'll be quiet down here for the next few hours, it shouldn't get loud unless something goes sideways. If you wanted to catch a nap, now’s your opportunity,” he told Spock. 

 

“Not while I'm on duty, but thank you,” Spock said. McCoy was glad he was responding factually and quickly, he couldn't waste time and Spock seemed to appreciate that.

 

“I'll be working for another ten hours at least,” he said. He stepped back into the scrub room, nodding at Spock to follow. Spock did so and McCoy began scrubbing clean.

 

“I sleep when you sleep, Doctor,” Spock said simply. He seemed to be trying to not touch anything.

 

“You'll never get a good night's rest with that attitude,” McCoy said, smiling. “At least sit down, you're creeping me out, standing there like a damn scarecrow.” McCoy walked backwards into the surgery room, letting the doors shut behind him.

 

Less than a minute later Spock walked into the viewing room and sat in the corner, watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill upload chap 3 this week some time, chap 2 ended up shorter than i expected. but like tbh bones is a bad ass mofo in this


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday

  
  
  


\-----

 

 

McCoy was in his office. He and Spock had just finished lunch - peppered with questions from Spock; what kind of parasites exist in San Fran, what causes grey hair in humans - and McCoy had just finished reading a brief and apologetic email from Christine, and he was taking a moment to calm himself before talking to Spock. He knew he was going to yell, and he saw no call to change that, but he wanted to consider what precisely he was yelling before he began.

 

Finally he had simmered enough and walked out angrily into the corridor to confront Spock.

 

“I can't believe you've been searching people who get near me,” He whispered angrily. Spock was on the phone and McCoy nearly gave up then, realising he'd have to come back when Spock was done. Nothing but imminent physical danger would encourage Spock to hang up on his supervisor. To his surprise, however, Spock hurriedly hung up, apologising twice then hiding the phone in his pocket. McCoy was only too happy to take the opportunity. “What, are you gonna give my head nurse a pat down? Strip search Jim on my front step?”

 

Spock didn't react, so McCoy let himself keep going. “I mean, Jim would probably be into that, sure, but could you show my staff some damn respect?”

 

“I doubt I will need to strip search anyone,” Spock said, finally removing his hand from his pocket, letting go of his phone at last.

 

“What's wrong with you?” McCoy asked, more bothered by Spock's odd behaviour now than his searching his staff.

 

“Nothing, Sir. Doctor,” Spock corrected himself quickly.

 

“Right,” McCoy said slowly, his disbelief clear. “Who was on the phone?”

 

“The Agency.”

 

“You don't panic and hang up on the Agency when I walk out. Who was it?”

 

Spock sighed, then seemed to accept his lot. “My father. My mother is unwell,” he said.

 

McCoy felt his heart sink.  “Where is she?” He asked.

 

“Uptown general,” Spock supplied.

 

McCoy was surprised, he’d assumed Spock's folks were back on Vulcan. “She's in hospital?” he asked instead of inquiring about Spock's relationship with his parents. Now he really just wanted to know if Spock went around to their place for Sunday dinner or not.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well shit, go!” McCoy spun him around, giving him a slight push towards the exit. Uptown General was only a forty minute drive away 

 

Spock didn't budge, despite McCoy's encouragement. “I can't, I have to stay with you,” he said, his tone free of blame.

 

McCoy paused and thought. He came to a decision quickly. “Well, lucky for you I've got to go to Uptown General now.” McCoy strolled back into his office and threw a few files and data padds into his bag. “Call your supervisor, if she has half a heart she'll arrange a swap for the afternoon. We can meet them there.”

 

“Doctor, this is highly irregular,” Spock said, following McCoy into his office.

 

“Ah, stuff it. Let's move,” McCoy said, stalking out to the exit. Spock, of course, had no choice but to follow. 

  
  
  
\-------

 

 

McCoy had had no problem completing his paperwork in Spock's mother's room. He had found it odd at first, but Spock was clearly not going to leave him anywhere unattended, so McCoy spent his afternoon at the bedside of a sick lady he had no medical responsibility over. 

 

She had woken up from her drug induced nap to thank him for bringing Spock, then she proceeded to ask McCoy about Spock more than she talked to Spock. McCoy got the feeling that Spock didn't share much about his life with his parents. She was very glad that Spock was there, regardless.

 

McCoy had managed to school his reaction over reveal after reveal of Spock's childhood quite well, although he was sure that Vulcans could see every emotion the slipped on his face. He didn't even bother when Amanda explained that Spock was her biological son, at that McCoy simply let his mouth fall open as he gaped at Spock. 

 

Eventually she had kicked them out, giving them instructions to relax and enjoy themselves. McCoy was in the habit of obeying his mother, so he found himself all too happy to call Jim up and meet him at a pub near his house. 

 

A few rounds in and, despite not drinking, Spock seemed to be relaxing.

 

“Alright alright alright,” Jim said loudly, waving a hand in McCoy's face to get his attention. “Enough about the car.” He started pulling a sleeve up, looking at Spock scathingly. “Look, I don't believe you're strong enough to be in IPPS, arm wrestle me.”

 

“Why would I?” Spock said, openly disdainful.

 

“If I win, you pay for my drinks tonight,” Jim said, making a show of putting his elbow on the table. He winked at McCoy, who rolled his eyes. “Not like I make enough to pay off this bar tab.”

 

“You're a consultant for StarFleet, you make fuck tonnes,” McCoy reproached. 

 

Jim fake shushed him. “He doesn't need to know,” he whispered loudly, sticking his thumb at Spock. 

 

Spock raised his eyebrow. “I have a copy of your financial records on my phone,” he said, sounding utterly unimpressed. “Sir,” he added.

 

McCoy laughed, he couldn't not. He saw Spock's shoulders relaxed slightly and realised that he hadn't seen Spock make a quip like that before, he must’ve been concerned about the response. Luckily, Jim's outrage was belied by his burgeoning smile.

 

The moment passed and McCoy found himself watching Spock, his gaze returned. Jim cleared his throat and waggled his finger at Spock, his arm setup to wrestle again. 

 

“And when I win?” Spock asked, glancing at McCoy, who was purposely focusing on his drink and ignoring his blush.

 

“Oooh, confident,” Jim said lasciviously. “What d'you want.”

 

“I want Doctor McCoy to agree to use the Agency’s car,” Spock said.

 

“Agreed,” Jim said instantly.

 

McCoy put his glass down loudly, drawing their attention. “If you ask me, and you haven't, I think this is a terrible idea.”

 

Spock glanced at him in amusement. “I can arm wrestle you instead?”

 

Jim gasped loudly. Spock and McCoy both turned to look at him, McCoy making sure derision was clear in his expression. “As well as!” Jim said happily.

 

Spock nodded. “As well as, then. And when I win both, I also want you two to compliment me,” Spock said smugly.

 

Jim grinned. “That's brilliant, I like that.”

 

“Fine,” McCoy said. “Me first.” He put his elbow on the table, trying to stare down a Vulcan who was not meeting his aggressive gaze. 

 

Spock leant forwards and joined hands with McCoy, making sure his elbow wouldn't slip off the table. McCoy felt a slight thrill run through him as he realised he was touching Spock's hand. In fact he was grasping Spock's hand quite tightly. He could only imagine how this felt for Spock. 

 

Spock raised an eyebrow and McCoy nodded, adjusting his grip slightly. McCoy pushed on Spock's hand, which did not budge. He pushed harder. And harder. “Bastard,” McCoy muttered. 

 

After ten seconds of watching McCoy struggle, Spock quickly pushed his hand to the table. Spock let go the moment McCoy's knuckles rapped the wood.

 

“Did you even have to try?” McCoy grumbled as he massaged his hand. 

 

“You are stronger than you appear, Doctor,” Spock said. He was slightly flushed, maybe McCoy could pretend he'd actually put up a fight. 

 

“Shut your pretty mouth,” McCoy said through a scowl.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “That does not count as your compliment.” He turned to Jim and cocked his head. “Sir?”

 

“Bring it on, Spocko!” Jim said, slamming his elbow on the table and wiggling his fingers.

 

Spock made quick work of Jim. Jim put all his effort in for two full seconds before Spock gently lowered their hands to the table, taking an amusing amount of care to not make a loud noise when they hit the wood.

 

“Damn,” Jim complained through a smile.

 

“Well,” Spock said. He looked unbearably smug. “Who first?”

 

McCoy rolled his eyes. He looked at Jim and waved his hand towards Spock. “Go for it.”

 

Jim nodded, leaning forwards towards Spock, smiling in a blatantly flirty manner. “You move with such grace I feel like I'm watching a dance when you walk,” he said softly, keeping eye contact with Spock. He finished speaking and there was a beat of silence before he turned to McCoy, grinned, and winked at him.

 

“Thank you,” Spock said. McCoy glanced at him and was surprised and oddly put out that Spock had a light blush across his cheeks. 

 

“Doctor?” Spock prompted, a few too many seconds of McCoy staring at him had passed.

 

Fifteen different compliments entered McCoy's mind at once, all of them things he had stopped himself from blurting out in the last day or two. But many of them were too personal and too flirtatious for McCoy to say to someone whose job required him to be by his side. “You're stronger than you look,” McCoy grunted in the end, decided to play it safe. He was swiftly certain that he'd made the wrong decision when Spock's face fell for a moment before he schooled it back to his passive lack of expression. 

 

“That's the worst compliment ever, Bones!” Jim said loudly. 

 

“Shut it, I'm getting more drinks,” McCoy said sourly, snatching his wallet off the table as he left.

 

“Excuse me,” Spock said to Jim as he stood up to follow.

 

McCoy ignored Spock until he had ordered the drinks. While the bartender was mixing Jim's offensive coconut liqueur in a lemonade of some kind, McCoy turned to Spock.

 

“You have nice eyes,” he said simply.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“The strong comment is a shit compliment, I know,” McCoy said, watching Spock's reaction closely to be sure he wasn't overstepping a mark. “So, you have nice eyes. Very nice.”

 

McCoy knew he had made the right call. A small smile appeared on Spock's face before he forced his lips back to their usual position. But the smile returned, slowly and quietly, beyond Spock's control. 

 

“Thank you,” Spock said.

 

“Sure,” McCoy said, finding that he too was smiling. “I like your eyebrows, too,” he added. 

 

Spock's cheeks darkened, and McCoy decided to politely not notice.

  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  


“I’m beat, Jim, I’m heading home,” McCoy said after a few moments of quiet had passed since Jim's last tale had ended. Jim nodded, then stuck his bottom lip out, pouting sarcastically at being abandoned so.

 

“I’ll call a car,” Spock said while Jim stood and gave McCoy a hug goodbye, smacking his back needlessly hard.

 

“No, look,” McCoy said, pushing Jim off to turn on Spock. “I know I was forced into agreeing to ride your idiotic cars everywhere, but I live two blocks from here! Let’s walk. It's not gonna rain in the three minutes it takes to get home.”

 

Spock stared at him for a moment. “Last time,” he said seriously.

 

McCoy grinned in triumph and agreed.

 

\------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock fuckin beat them ay
> 
> Also, in case i havent mentioned it yet, this is high key inspired by the secret service sub plot from The West Wing, just with a less utterly heart breaking ending that made me cry when it happened, and again when i texted my girlfriend about it. pain.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

“I’m beat, Jim, I’m heading home,” McCoy said after a few moments of quiet had passed since Jim's last tale had ended. Jim nodded, then stuck his bottom lip out, pouting sarcastically at being abandoned so.

 

“I’ll call a car,” Spock said while Jim stood and gave McCoy a hug goodbye, smacking his back needlessly hard.

 

“No, look,” McCoy said, pushing Jim off to turn on Spock. “I know I was forced into agreeing to ride your idiotic cars everywhere, but I live two blocks from here! Let’s walk. It's not gonna rain in the three minutes it takes to get home.”

 

Spock stared at him for a moment. “Last time,” he said seriously.

 

McCoy grinned in triumph and agreed.

 

 

\----------

  
  


“That was worse than I expected,” McCoy grudgingly admitted as they huddled together under his balcony. Chekov seemed entertained by how entirely drenched they were, but had so far masked his face well enough to not be rude. 

 

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, still slightly out of breath after their sprint down the street. He shook his head and rainwater flew off his hair, some of it hitting McCoy. “Agent Chekov, I transfer responsibility of the protectee to you,” Spock said, not apologising for wetting McCoy further. Not that it had made much of a difference.

 

“I accept responsibility, Agent Spock,” Chekov said, standing respectfully. He relaxed and looked down at the puddle that had formed at Spock's feet. “You should get home and get dry, sir,” Chekov said kindly.

 

McCoy felt entirely responsible for Spock's drenched clothes, it had been on his insistence that they walk home from the pub, despite losing the arm wrestle. The sky opening it's clouds had been unexpected and even now the rain seemed to have eased off from the downpour they had encountered. God seemed intent on embarrassing McCoy in front of Spock.

 

“I intend to,” Spock agreed with Chekov. 

 

“What, no!” McCoy said suddenly. “I got you soaked, least I can do is dry you off, too. Come in,” he opened the door and gestured inside. 

 

“I can’t, Doctor,” Spock said slowly. He had already explained that he couldn't entered the house, and seemed to be holding himself back from repeating himself too condescendingly. “Agent Chekov is your house detail, I can’t come in.”

 

“You’re not in charge of me right now, he is!” McCoy found himself pointing unnecessarily to Spock and Chekov as he spoke, doubtlessly due to the amount of bourbon he'd drunk that night. 

 

“True,” Spock said after a pause, seeming unwilling to give McCoy this small victory.

 

“So, Mr. Spock, I would like to invite you in as a friend,” McCoy said with obviously forced formality. “Can I do that?” he checked with Chekov.

 

Chekov smiled. “It is an amusing loophole. I will sign off,” he said, winking cheekily at Spock. McCoy found he suddenly liked Chekov ten fold.

 

Spock stayed quiet and McCoy sighed. “Look, I have a shower, towels, and a dryer. Come in,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

 

Spock nodded. “Thank you,” he said, finally entering the house. McCoy rolled his eyes at Chekov as he followed Spock.

 

McCoy hurried Spock to his bathroom, quickly explaining the lock on the door and how the hot water came out instantly, so best to stand away from the stream. Spock took all this information in quietly, looking curiously at the pictures on the walls. 

 

Once Spock closed the door behind him, McCoy began to take his dripping clothes off, drying himself off with his towel. McCoy wasn't sure why he'd rushed Spock into the bathroom. Professional concern? It was hardly cold enough for an extra minute to take a toll on Spock's health. He hadn't been too worried about Spock changing his mind and leaving, partially because it wouldn't really have been bad for Spock, but also because Spock was too proud to change his mind. Perhaps he just didn't want Spock seeing too much of his house? No, he had imagined Spock spending an evening here before. In his boredom McCoy had casually fantasised about what kind of fights an off duty Spock would pick. A Spock who wasn't so entirely focused on remaining untalkative and polite. 

 

McCoy had noticed Spock biting his lip, figuratively and literally, at certain times when McCoy had defended his own actions or decisions. McCoy wished Spock wouldn't, he was curious about the man's opinion and longed for a good debate. But if Spock insisted on professionalism, McCoy would accept it. And he would enjoy the physical effect Spock biting his lip had on greening his lips, despite his nude pink lipstick. 

 

McCoy deemed himself warm enough and pulled a pair of slacks and the first jumper he saw on his clothes rail on, ignoring the mildly uncomfortable sensation of the knitted vest on his bare skin. He sighed, looking at his clothes, trying to figure out what he could throw Spock's way. 

 

As he gazed unimpressed at his collection of clothing, Spock walked out of the bathroom. McCoy turned to greet him, but didn't even get as far as opening his mouth before he choked. 

 

Spock emerged surrounded by steam from the shower, his hair still running with water. He held a damp but neatly folded towel in front of his crotch. McCoy could see the edge of his underpants on him, and was disappointed but primarily relieved to see that he was wearing underpants. However, he did not have a shirt on and his chest was simply on display.

 

McCoy realised he'd been silently staring for a noticeable length of time and forced himself to grin, breaking the mood. “See, if I’d known you had a body like that under your apparently unflattering suits I wouldn’t’ve ever risked that arm wrestle,” he said in a strained voice. God damn, how does someone get that good looking? And how does someone that good looking wind up in his room shirtless?

 

“Do you have any clothing I can borrow?” Spock asked politely, his voice low.

 

“Ah, yeah,” McCoy said. Shit he should've prepared some clothes. Spock had wider hips than him, so he grabbed an old pair of jeans that were slightly loose on him and the largest sweater he could find, to play it safe. “My gear probably won't fit you well, but it’ll get you home. Jeans and a sweater.”

 

Spock put his folded towel on the foot of McCoy's bed and took the clothes. “Thank you, Doctor,” said, not looking at him directly. Spock pulled the shirt on quickly, struggling slightly to pull it over his head. 

 

After a moment of watching Spock fail to put a sweater on, McCoy went and helped, pulling the neck open to allow Spock's ears to slip through with ease. McCoy focused very hard on not laughing at the thought of Spock getting his ears caught on his sweater.

Of course, when Spock emerged from the sweater, McCoy was quickly distracted by his messed hair and wide eyes. His lipstick had completely gone in the shower, his lips were their true green and McCoy loved it. McCoy considered briefly the effect bourbon may be having on his thoughts, but dismissed his concerns quickly.

 

“What is it?” Spock asked, staring at him. McCoy was still standing in front of Spock. He tugged Spock's sweater down, straightening out the creases instead of stepping away.

 

McCoy smiled to himself, his grip on the hem of Spock's sweater tightening. He watched almost curiously as Spock glanced down at McCoy's hand on his clothes, then back up at McCoy's lips. Spock took a slow breath in. McCoy felt his hunch about the dynamic between them slip into certainty.

 

“You do really have nice eyes, Spock,” McCoy said, still smiling as his gaze flitted between Spock's eyes and lips.

 

“Doctor,” Spock whispered, leaning forwards. His tone was welcoming, but McCoy wasn't used to being called Doctor while going for a kiss.

 

“You’re off duty, you can call me Leonard,” he whispered. He tipped closer, brushing his lips across Spock's. He felt them touch, felt the texture of Spock's lips against his, felt Spock's quick gasp of breath when they did.

 

“Leonard, I - I can’t,” Spock whispered, moving a centimeter back, shaking his head slightly. He didn't move any further away.

 

McCoy took a deep breath in, giving himself a moment to gather some control. McCoy couldn't go around making out with his patients, Spock was in the same position. But McCoy wouldn't be under his care forever. 

 

McCoy bowed his head, closing his eyes for a second. He leaned away from Spock, still holding his shirt. “But you want to?” McCoy muttered, his voice strained.

 

Spock's hand, the one not holding his still folded pants, came to McCoy's hands, gently untangling them from his sweater. McCoy watched their hands as Spock softly pushed him away. Spock took his time, a finger curling around McCoy's thumb in a confusing display of intimacy. Spock's fingers stroked along the side of McCoy's hand, running across his knuckles before falling to his side.

 

“That doesn't matter,” Spock said almost silently. McCoy looked up at him and found that Spock was still looking down at his hands.

 

McCoy stepped back properly, shaking his head to himself. “I’m sorry,” he said.

 

Spock looked up quickly. “No-” he said immediately. 

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” McCoy interrupted, not wanting to continue a conversation that promised to hurt. He grabbed Spock's discarded towel off his bed and walked to the bathroom to hang it up. He picked Spock's ridiculously well folded clothes off the basin and threw them in the dryer.

 

Once he returned to his room, Spock was standing fully dressed. He looked odd in jeans and a sweater, but McCoy found he enjoyed the sight.

 

“I will pick you up at eight AM with a car,” Spock said, nodding formally. 

 

“Alright.” 

 

McCoy opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. Spock walked past and headed for the front door without further farewell.

 

“Sleep well,” McCoy called as Spock shut the front door behind him. 

  
“Jesus, sleep well,” he scolded himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short but sweet, this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Thursday

  
  


 

The drive in had been excruciating in its awkwardness. McCoy had hurriedly passed Spock a plastic bag with his clothes in it from the night before, which Spock had taken with a murmured thanks. McCoy had spent most of the trip furious at his blush. The driver, an intimidating lady, didn't seem to give a shit. 

 

“Any movement on catching my would be killer?” McCoy asked as they left the car, not willing to walk to his office with the same silence.

 

“We found an address, but they haven't lived there for three years,” Spock said. He was still doing his ridiculous back and forth to walk behind McCoy down corridors but open every door. McCoy had grown used to it. 

 

“Are they still following me?” he asked, feigning only a mild interest so as to not concern the already worried Nurse Chapel who was handing him his daily schedule. 

 

“They haven't been getting as close of late,” Spock said, which was a noticeably evasive answer. “Can I say something?” Spock asked, standing in the doorway of McCoy's office. 

  
“Sure,” McCoy said, pretending he didn't know exactly what Spock was going to bring up now that they were alone. 

Spock closed the door. “I'm not allowed to date a protectee.” 

 

“Who's trying to date you?” McCoy asked, making sure his files sat straight on his desk. He didn't care about the files, but at least here he didn't have to look at Spock. 

  
“I'm not allowed to kiss a protectee,” Spock said, correcting himself. McCoy sighed.   


  
“Who's trying to kiss you?” He asked. His tone was growing increasingly bitter, which Spock didn't deserve. But really, the situation was best left forgotten. Why Spock was insisting on discussing it was beyond McCoy.    


  
“You did,” Spock insisted, stubbornly not taking the hint.   
  


“No, I didn't.”   
  


“We can't have any kind of personal relationship, Leonard, it may effect my job performance,” Spock said quickly. He sounded distressed, which was making McCoy fill with guilt. 

McCoy looked over at him and watched him for a moment. McCoy felt cold. He could remember the heat radiating off Spock the night before. He took his showers hot, hotter than McCoy did, and McCoy was going to struggle to not know that. Their relationship had to be professional, McCoy wasn't sure he could handle anything friendlier. 

“Aren't you not allowed to call a protectee by their first name?” he asked, slightly surprised by how heartless he sounded.    
  


Spock's mouth opened a few millimeters, the only indication of his hurt. He glanced at the floor, putting his hands together behind his back. When he looked back up his lower lip was sliding out from between his teeth. McCoy felt his heart tug at the sight as Spock's blood welled up from the pressure of his teeth, turning his lips green where his teeth had scraped away his lipstick.

 

Spock swallowed and raised his chin, his expression calming as he controlled his emotions.

 

“That's right, Doctor,” he said.

 

McCoy nodded then gestured to his door. “Good morning,” he said, the dismissal clear in his tone.

 

Spock left without further word, closing the door quietly. McCoy sat down at his desk and sank his head into his hands, giving himself a minute to calm before reading through the schedule Chapel had given him. 

  
  
  
  


\------

  
  
  


Spock sat with him silently while he ate lunch. They sat in the corner of the cafeteria, in a table that Spock had deemed acceptably safe. McCoy was checking his emails, steadfastly ignoring Spock. Spock was paying close attention to the people coming and going in the room.

 

Every time Spock drank some of his water or shifted position McCoy lost track of what he was reading, expecting Spock to speak. Usually in the cafeteria Spock found any number of brief questions to ask. What drug is in that lady's drip, why is that man such a colour, which species is that child? McCoy had found he enjoyed lunch, bringing less work down with him, instead allowing time to answer Spock's curiosities. 

 

But he had no questions today.

  
  
  


\------

  
  
  


McCoy sat in his office, reading a completely absurd summary of a surgery where a surgeon had cut off the wrong antennae on an Andorian because the word for ‘left’ in Andorian sounded a lot like the english word ‘right’ and no one had caught the error. McCoy wasn't sure if he should laugh and ignore it, or offer to be a medical expert in the Andorian’s court case.

 

As he sat, flicking through all the (admittedly symmetrical) x rays, his phone rang. Jim was on the line, checking in after their night out.

 

“I mean, it bucketed down, how'd you two manage?” Jim asked, shouting slightly over the sound of his kettle.

 

“Ah yeah, we got damp,” McCoy mumbled, not completely focusing, and not keen to discuss the topic.

 

“Damp? It looked torrential out the window.”

 

“Why d'you care?” he groaned, shutting the files. “We got wet, I gave Spock some dry clothes, and he left.”

 

“Is that all?” Jim sounded disappointed. “You were looking kinda chummy by the bar.”

 

“Kid, you gotta learn when to bite your tongue.”

 

“Alright, I'll respect your blushing virginity, then,” Jim said, laughing.

 

McCoy groaned, leaning back in his chair, running his hand slowly through his hair. “Ah, shut it. Why are you calling me now, anyway?” he asked.

 

“Only just woke up, I stayed on a bit last night.” 

 

McCoy's response was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, followed by Jim's quiet swearing. McCoy starter to chuckle, listening to Jim's struggle. “Y’alright?” McCoy asked.

 

“Yeah, dropped my coffee though,” Jim muttered. There was a pause for a few seconds while McCoy quietly listened to Jim's movements. “How're you holding up with everything, Bones?” Jim asked.

 

McCoy took a deep breath. “I'm fine,” he said. 

 

“Yeah?” Jim sounded nervous, unsure.

 

McCoy closed his eyes, leaning on this hand. “No, I'm not sleeping right. I keep jumping at loud noises, and there are a lot of those in a hospital, let me tell you.”

 

“The IPPS guys aren't helping, then?”

 

“Oh, they're helping,” McCoy laughed sourly, “But there's only so much a few handsome bastards with phasers can really do, you know?”

 

Jim hummed in agreement. He was quiet for a moment. “Spock's not helping much either, I guess?” Jim asked.

 

McCoy glared at the tabletop for a beat. “Spock is what he is,” he spat. He sighed, leaning back, his head turning towards his phone for comfort. “I'm a doctor, I'm a fucking doctor, Jim. What is this fucked up bastard doing this to me for?” he asked tiredly.

 

“It's not how things should go, Bones,” Jim said sadly.

 

“But why me?” McCoy asked. “Why come and fuck with my life?”

 

“It's not personal, Bones, it's xenoph-”

 

“He's made it fucking well personal, hasn't he?” McCoy interrupted, then cringed at interrupting. He shouldn't be taking this out on Jim.

 

Jim was quiet for a beat. “He has, and it's awful,” he agreed.

 

McCoy shook his head. “I gotta- I gotta go, Jim,” he said. He could feel his panic brewing and didn't want to deal with it here in his office, with Spock just outside the door.

 

“No, Bones, honey,” Jim said quickly, “I can stay on the line, we can keep talking.”

 

“Chapel’s light is blinking on my holds,” McCoy lied. 

 

“You're upset, though.”

 

“I'm fine, I'll see you.” McCoy hung up before Jim could say anything else. He put his phone on his desk and rested his head in his hands, breathing slowly. 

 

He stared at his clock, watching seconds silently tick by, and let himself feel. 

  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  
  


A knock on the door startled McCoy out of his thoughts. He looked around wildly for a moment, getting his bearings. He'd let himself fall into too much of a self pity session, tearing up at work. He was a damned professional. 

 

There was another knock, Spock's pattern. He wiped his eyes dry quickly and called out to him. “C’min.”

 

Spock entered, holding a file. “Nurse Chapel asked me to give this to you, also-” he looked up and stopped, studying McCoy's face. “Are you well?” Spock asked.

 

McCoy avoided making eye contact, well aware how obviously he cried. “Nah, I'm good,” he muttered. 

 

He stood up quickly and made his way over to Spock, taking the file. He began reading immediately as a diversion.

 

“You look upset, Doctor,” Spock said softly, his hand still extended as if he'd forgotten to let go of the file now in McCoy's hands.

 

“I'm fine,” McCoy snapped, closing the folder and glaring up at Spock. “Was there something else, Agent?”

 

Spock watched him for a moment before lowering his eyes and swallowing. “Yes, Doctor,” he said stiffly, “If you need to leave your house after six pm tonight you will be supplied with an alternative detail.”

 

McCoy paused. “Alternative to who?”

 

“Me,” Spock said simply. Too simply, McCoy wondered if he was being condescended to.

 

“Right,” McCoy agreed. Then a thought struck him and his mouth went dry. “You're not leaving my security detail, are you? ‘Cause honestly, Spock, I was drunk as all fuck last night, I’d’ve tried to kiss anyone.”

 

Spock put his hands behind his back, his face still. “While I am pleased you admit to trying to kiss me, Doctor, I am not leaving,” he said, “I have dinner plans tonight and will be back to my usual duty tomorrow.”

 

McCoy felt a cold dread and humiliation fill him for a moment. He glanced at the roof breifly, sighing. “Shit,” he cringed, looking back at Spock. “You're not dating someone, are you?”

 

Spock looked at the ground, trying to hide his expression, and smirked. When he looked back up at McCoy he was still smiling a bit. “My mother has been released from hospital and has arranged a family dinner.”

 

McCoy relaxed, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction. “Good,” he said, still letting his breath out. “Hey, that's great!” He patted Spock uncomfortably on his shoulder, not sure how to celebrate with a Vulcan he'd recently failed to hit on.

 

Spock nodded. “It is a relief,” he agreed. 

 

McCoy smiled at him, honestly pleased for the man. He could rebuild from his screw up, Spock and Jim got along well and McCoy enjoyed having Spock around. With enough effort he might be able to convince Spock to keep joining them at the pub after the threat to his life had finished. Gain a friendship. It was worth a shot at least.

 

“I'll leave you to it, Doctor,” Spock said, doing his little bow and leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Friday 

  
  
  
  


“Oh, come on,” McCoy groaned into his phone. “You know full well that if I were trying to see Jo this weekend you'd be against it! I just don't want her to see me with a security guard.”

 

McCoy was pacing up and down the path in the garden outside the hospital. It was a good garden, right next to Emergency, so admitted kids tended to play here. Right now it was lunch hour so everyone was inside. But McCoy was here, fighting with his ex wife again.

 

“I understand that, Len, but I can't just upturn my life because you've got something going on,” Jocelyn replied. 

 

McCoy sighed, holding onto his calm, fully aware that if he cracked first he'd have a worse position to argue from. “I just want to swap my visitation from this weekend to next weekend so that Jo doesn't have to be aware of the threat on my life, Jocelyn. This is reasonable, I'm doing the right thing here.”

 

“We've got plans next weekend, we're not at your beck and call!”

 

“Whatever you've got planned, do it this weekend. I can go through our attorneys if you want, but you know I'm making the right call here. And I'd love to show the judge that we managed a civil agreement without her involvement.” 

 

McCoy spun around, still pacing. Spock had stepped onto the path, in his way. He glared at Spock, pushing past him.

 

“I'll talk to Clay, see if we can rearrange, but I don't think it's likely.”

 

“Why is this so dif-?” McCoy got halfway through his sentence when Spock snatched the phone away. “Hey, what the fuck are you-?”

 

Spock grabbed McCoy arm and pulled him bodily towards the door. “Doctor McCoy will call you back,” Spock snapped into the phone, hanging up without waiting for a response. 

 

“What the fuck, Spock!?” McCoy shouted. Spock ignored him.

 

There was a loud snap and Spock pushed McCoy face first into the wall nearest them. Spock pressed himself into McCoy's back, for a brief moment all McCoy could think about was Spock's body against him and how good that felt, but the distraction passed quickly.

“Any pain?” Spock muttered into his ear.

 

“No,” McCoy whispered. He knew what was happening, but he seemed to be having difficulty accepting it. He couldn't believe this asshole would try and attack him at work. At a hospital. 

 

There was another incomprehensibly sudden noise and Spock stiffened behind him. “Are you hurt?” McCoy asked, hearing the fear in his voice.

 

Spock opened the door next to them and, once it was open, slid McCoy through. “Negative,” Spock said, following him. 

 

McCoy didn't have a moment to relax, as soon as Spock was by him again he was being manhandled further into the hospital. Spock's hands seemed to be everywhere on him, pulling his arm, resting on his back, his arms coming close to wrapping around him whenever they passed near a person. 

 

The whole way Spock was speaking rapidly into his ear piece. After a minute that felt like longer, McCoy stopped. Spock focused on him instantly. “What's wrong, are you hurt?” Spock asked, his hands running down his arms and holding his wrists to tak his pulse.

 

“No, Spock, what the fuck’s happening?” McCoy asked, raising his hands to push Spock off. Spock didn't budge and instead McCoy found himself holding onto Spock's upper arms tightly. “Holy shit, Spock, this is fucked up,” McCoy whispered.

 

Spock looked around quickly. A few meters away was an emergency stairwell, which McCoy found himself being pulled into. Spock shut the door and leaned against the wall. “Every wall in this building is a window,” he said tiredly, his voice echoing in the silent well.

 

McCoy couldn't help smiling at that. He sobered quickly. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked.

 

“Doesn't look like it,” Spock said. “We're pursuing him, but it doesn't look promising.”

 

“Him?” McCoy asked, “You know who it is?”

 

“We believe so-” he cut himself off. “No, I would estimate within two hundred meters of target and no more than four stories off the ground,” he muttered, turning his head towards his ear subconsciously. He paused, then said, “No,” and turned his attention back on McCoy. 

 

“You're certain you're not hurt?” 

 

Spock hesitated. “I'm fine,” he said.

 

McCoy frowned. He leaned to one side and saw the tear in Spock's jacket. “Goddamn it,” he said, glaring at Spock.

 

“It is an extremely superficial graze,” Spock said, tugging his sleeve down so that the wound wasn't visible through the hole.

 

McCoy was already striding towards him. “I don't give a shit if it's a splinter from the door frame, let me have a look.” He ignored Spock's protests and grappled him out of his jacket. His white shirt was stained green around the hole, but not badly, leading McCoy to agree that the wound would be superficial. Not that he'd say that before a proper check.

 

“Jesus, how many weapons do you need?” McCoy asked. Spock's jacket was apparently not poorly tailored, but it was built to hide the phaser, lock pick, knife, and four other items McCoy couldn't identify that he wore underneath. “Is your shirt expensive?” he asked when Spock didn't reply.

 

“No,” Spock said, sounding worried. 

 

McCoy tore Spock's sleeve, using the bullet hole as a purchase for the tear. He'd decided he didn't want to see Spock shirtless again, so the sleeve would have to do. His arm was beautifully muscled, though, and a part of McCoy’s brain was taking an inappropriate amount of time appreciating that. 

 

While McCoy poked around, studying the extent of the damage, Spock started talking into his ear piece again.

 

“We're in stairwell K, Doctor McCoy is tending to my arm,” Spock said, ignoring McCoy. “No, I am barely grazed. I do not need medical attention, however, Doctor Mc-”

 

“Sorry, Spock,” McCoy interrupted, “I forgot all about your medical degree. What did you specialise in again?” 

 

Spock turned away from him and explained the loud cracking noise they'd heard in the courtyard. He went on to admit that he wasn't sure what kind of weapon it may have been, the particular sound being unfamiliar.

 

“Gimme your earpiece,” McCoy said.

 

Spock stopped halfway through a sentence, looking at him incredulously. “No,” he said.

 

“Give it, you're giving them shit information.” McCoy held out his hand expectantly.

 

Spock was clearly listening to the voice in his ear before he sighed and handed the earpiece over. 

 

McCoy tried to fit it on his ear, but struggled. “It's designed for my ear,” Spock said tiredly.

 

McCoy glanced at him. “Must've cost a fortune,” he said. He gave up and held the earpiece where he could hear the lady on the other end.

 

“Look,” McCoy said clearly, “Phasers cauterise, lasers are clean, this wound of Spock's is messy and shows signs of low heat damage. That says he was hit with something physical, which says projectile weapon at speeds high enough to reach a reasonable temperature. Based on the noise and damage, I'm pitching an old fashioned gun, I reckon you should be looking for lead bullets where we were.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” A lady responded. “That is odd.”

 

“Fucking barbaric,” McCoy growled. Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“How is his injury actually?” She asked, skimming right past his outburst like it hadn't happened. McCoy smiled, she had her head on right if she wasn't trusting Spock with his own health.

 

“Ah, it's barely a scratch,” McCoy said, winking at Spock happily. “He's throwing a big fit over nothing.”

 

Spock rolled his eyes and reached over, reclaiming his earpiece.

 

“God knows how he got a gun into a city, though,” McCoy muttered. 

 

Spock glanced at him before responding. “They're easy to make,” he said softly.

 

McCoy frowned. “Sure makes me feel safe.”

 

Spock put his earpiece back in, immediately asking for his supervisor to repeat what she'd said.

 

McCoy waited until Spock looked like no one was talking to him, then spoke. “C’mon, I want to get you a plaster.” He nodded towards the door.

 

Spock checked that they were cleared to leave, then nodded and opened the door for McCoy. 

  
  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  
  
  


“So, why d'you think he chose today?” McCoy muttered. They stood in his office, window curtains drawn to close them off from the active threat outside. Spock was nearly sat on McCoy’s desk, leaning against it as McCoy cleaned his arm wound. 

 

“Difficult to say. It may simply be that he considers himself ready at last,” Spock said. He was watching McCoy’s hands closely, presumably preparing himself for any pain that may occur. He hadn’t even flinched when McCoy had put the stinging disinfectant on. 

 

McCoy hummed in thought, focusing for a moment on lining the small bandage up correctly so that none of the cream would escape. “So you think he'll have another go?” 

 

Spock nodded, reaching up to test the bandage. McCoy smacked his hand away, raising his dermal regen unit instead. “He has not returned to any of his known refuges,” Spock said, “So it is likely that he is waiting for you, yes.”

 

McCoy finished and put his regen unit down, resting his hand over Spock’s bandage. “Are other people here safe with me?” He asked.

 

Spock smiled softly, glancing at the floor. McCoy realised he was still standing close to Spock, practically between his legs. Spock looked back up at him, his fringe in slight disarray. “I- there is a certain risk for the public near you, however his aim seems good,” Spock said softly, almost fondly. 

 

McCoy dropped his hand and stepped back. “He hit you,” he pointed out.

 

“I was trying very hard to get in the way,” Spock said, turning to watch McCoy as he walked around his desk to his chair. 

 

McCoy sat, feeling much less vulnerable with a desk between him and Spock. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” McCoy said quietly.

 

Spock lowered his head again for a moment. When he looked back up he looked almost sad. “Do you understand my job description, Doctor?”

 

“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” McCoy grumbled. “I mean, what about my life is worth more than yours?” McCoy asked softly. 

 

Spock looked at him at last, his eyes wide and sad. “It is not your life per se, but the media attention surrounding your actions and subsequent threats are of huge political ramification. This situation has been mutated into a single representation of all xenophobia on Earth, and if you are killed it will effect interplanetary travels.”

 

McCoy looked away from him, staring at his hands as Spock spoke. “But I don’t want you to die, that’s not a win,” he said a few seconds after Spock finished speaking.

 

“I am a footnote, Doctor,” Spock said cooly.

 

McCoy looked up in shock. He stared at Spock who stood straight, standing by what he said. 

 

McCoy walked over to Spock as fast as he could. He pushed Spock’s shoulder so that he faced him properly and pushed his chin up with his thumb to force eye contact. “You ain’t a footnote,” McCoy said, sounding disgusted at the thought. 

 

Spock lowered his head slowly, jerking away only when McCoy’s thumb brushed against his lower lip. “Doctor, you are… uncommonly unopposed to my company,” Spock whispered.

 

McCoy briefly toyed with the idea of kissing Spock, enjoying the thought of it. Ultimately, though, if he were being honest with himself he knew it would go down poorly. McCoy dropped his hand a forced a smile, just avoiding looking into Spock's eyes. “No accounting for taste,” he joked. 

 

Spock breathed a laugh, more than McCoy had ever gotten from him. McCoy smiled again, warmly, watching Spock's lips refuse to show his amusement. Their eyes met and suddenly McCoy wanted to kiss him again. He was standing too close, that was why, all he could see was Spock. He stepped back. “Look, I don't want to hang around the Hospital if I'm putting people at risk,” McCoy said, breaking the silence that had grown between them

 

Spock nodded. “You can go home.”

 

“Alright, let's do that, then.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Saturday

 

 

 

McCoy was woken by the knock at his door. He groaned and rolled over, checking his clock. Ten past eight. He would usually be on his way to work by now, but not today. 

 

He had forgotten to tell Spock that, though. 

 

The knock repeated, and McCoy realised it was definitely the pattern Spock had shown him on the first day. 

 

“Doctor, would you like me to get that?” Agent Chekov asked from the hallway. 

 

McCoy groaned again. “No, I'll deal with the devil-eared bastard myself,” he called back. He heard Chekov chuckle and walk back down the hallway to his room.

 

McCoy rolled out of bed, wiping his face on his blanket as he did. He'd greeted Jim one morning like this to find out later he had a drool trail down his chin, and he had no interest in repeating that moment with Spock. 

 

He stomped down the hallway and wrenched the door open. Spock was standing calmly, watching him.

 

“I'm not going to work,” McCoy said. He was going to continue, to explain, but instead he yawned desperately. 

 

“No?” Spock asked, his eyes roaming all over McCoy, taking in his pyjama pants with their uneven length and far too large singlet. 

 

“Mm,” McCoy agreed, luxuriating in post yawn goosebumps. “I called in, they don't have a precedent for death threats, but Christine said it won't come out of my holiday leave.”

 

“Then I apologise for waking you,” Spock said, bowing slightly to allow McCoy to close the door, should he wish. 

 

“Don't go, I'm up now. I wanted to get to the mall today, gotta buy Jo an apology present for swapping weekends on her. Wanna come in?” 

 

Spock frowned. “No, I will wait here,” he said.

 

McCoy shrugged. “Suit yourself, I still gotta shower and caffeinate, so you'll be waiting a while.” 

 

Spock didn't respond. McCoy paused a moment, then sighed and went back inside, letting the door close behind him.

 

McCoy turned and saw Chekov in the hallway, watching him with a smirk. “Want a coffee, Pavel?” McCoy offered.

 

“Thank you,” Chekov replied. “Spock's very nice to you,” he said innocently as McCoy passed.

 

“You’re pullin’ my leg,” McCoy said dismissively.

 

“No, he was very polite. Usually when a protectee invites him in more than once he just ignores them until they figure out they've made a mistake. Not only did he respond to you, he actually came in one evening.” Chekov strolled after him, gathering cups for the two of them as McCoy got the kettle going.

 

“He was drenched that night, of course he came in,” McCoy grumbled, spooning coffee into the plunger.

 

“I've seen him worse and refuse hospitality, Doctor,” Chekov mused.

 

“What are you tryin’ t’ say?” McCoy asked loudly, turning on Chekov.

 

“Nothing,” Chekov said softly. “Merely that he may not dislike you.”

 

McCoy glared at him. “Your accent gets stronger when you're being a little shit,” he said angrily. 

 

Chekov smiled. “Yours gets stronger when you are defensive.”

 

“Piss off,” McCoy snapped. “I'm having a shower.” He walked off, confident that Chekov would pour his coffee out for him.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

They sat quietly in the car, heading towards the shopping centre. McCoy didn't know where he stood with Spock now. In two days they'd nearly kissed, McCoy had been rejected, they'd fought, been under attack, and finally McCoy had settled into a resigned acceptance that friendship may be the best he could hope for. But whether Spock wanted even that much was still up in the air.

 

Best he could do is start talking again.

 

“How was your dinner?” McCoy asked, breaking the silence.

 

Spock twitched. “Fine,” he said shortly. 

 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Your mother doing alrigh’?” 

 

Spock nodded, still looking out his window. “She is nearly fully healed, thank you.”

 

McCoy couldn't manage a conversation that was wholly one sided, so he gave up, staring at the passing pavement. He kept thinking about Spock, unable to get him out of his mind.

 

“C’mon, ask me a damn question,” McCoy demanded suddenly.

 

Spock turned to him. “Excuse me?”

 

“Since I met you, you've asked me some dumbass question every hour or two, but nothing in the last two days,” McCoy said, forcing his tone to be as polite and emotion free as possible. “I’m sure you've got something saved up. Ask away.”

 

Spock frowned and looked away again, studying the street as they drove. McCoy sighed and settled back into his seat miserably. 

 

A few minutes passed and McCoy gave up, pulling out his phone to check his emails. Mostly courtesy alerts telling him which patients of his were being reassigned until he was back on duty. One email from Scotty telling him his car would be ready in a week, assuming it would start. McCoy ignored that email. 

 

“Is it true that some humans are allergic to meat?” Spock suddenly asked. 

 

McCoy jumped slightly, having almost forgotten about Spock. Spock was still looking out the window, but when he faced him, he glanced at McCoy and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, yeah,” McCoy said slowly. He thought about the question for a moment, then remembered a case he’d had a while back. “Actually, there's this tick called Lone Star that, if it bites you, can make some people develop an allergy to red meat.”

 

Spock nodded and fell quiet again. It wasn't until they were pulling into the car park of the shopping mall a few minutes later that he spoke again. “What do the pink wheelchairs in your hospital represent?”

 

McCoy looked at him curiously, not so surprised this time. “You don't know? They mean you can't touch the person in them, that should be well signed.” McCoy made a note to tell marketing to put more signage up. 

 

“But why is that symbolised?” Spock asked, turning to fully face McCoy. “Shouldn't all people in wheelchairs be left alone?”

 

McCoy smiled. “Yes, but the pink just means there's a specific medical reason.” Spock was watching him closely as he spoke. “Hypersensitivity, claustrophobia, aggressive ecchymosis, britt-”

 

There was the sound of a car backfiring and the frame of the vehicle shook. Spock grabbed McCoy's head and pulled it down, pushing his body sideways along the car seat, McCoy’s head landing in Spock’s lap. McCoy felt his heartbeat speed up instantly as Spock curled over him, covering his body. The sound repeated and McCoy felt nauseous, realising it was the sound of bullets hitting their car.

 

McCoy's hand gripped Spock's thigh, his other reaching up to cover the back of Spock's neck and head as best he could. There was nothing his hand could do to stop a bullet, but he could save Spock from broken glass if the windows gave out. 

 

Spock started to move, one of his hands running down McCoy's back and around to his seat belt buckle. McCoy decided to focus on what Spock was doing rather than pay attention to the sounds outside. There were screams and car tyres screeching and bullet after bullet hitting the car. 

 

Spock unbuckled McCoy and pushed him off the seat into the leg room below. McCoy turned around quickly, just in time to see Spock unbuckle his own seat belt and swing his legs onto the seat, lying above McCoy. 

 

“Are you hit?” Spock asked.

 

McCoy shook his head. Then he remembered he was likely in shock and closed his eyes for a second. “Don't think so, at least,” he said. 

 

“Good Doctor is secure,” Spock said quickly. The bullet noises stopped. Spock looked up, unsure. He tilted his head the way he did when he was listening to his earpiece, then, “Shit,” Spock spat.

 

Spock pushed himself off the seat and on top of McCoy. As he did he pulled small device out of his breast pocket, landing so that his elbows fell either side of McCoy's head and the device sat in his hands between McCoy's head and the car door. Spock pressed a button and a small shield formed above McCoy. Spock ducked his head, burying himself as low as possible.

 

McCoy found himself pulling Spock closer, tugging his shirt so that as much of Spock's torso was protected by the quick force field as possible. Moments after Spock had landed on McCoy a new sound started outside. Unmistakably a phaser, but the sound was more crackly than McCoy was accustomed to. 

 

Spock's head was low, their cheeks touching, and beyond the hair that had fallen across McCoy's face he could see the line of phaser light above them grow thicker as it destroyed a hole in the car door. “The heat is increasing,” Spock muttered, his lips brushing McCoy's ear. 

 

Seconds that felt like hours later the phaser beam suddenly stopped. McCoy let go of the breath he'd been holding, relaxing underneath Spock. “Repeat,” Spock muttered. McCoy turned his head to look at him. His pupils were wide and his hair in disarray. “Subject is down, confirm?” 

 

McCoy felt relief rush through him. He still held Spock's shirt in his hands. He slowly peeled his fingers open, his eyes still shut, and felt Spock lifting slightly off him. Not going, just giving them both room to inhale.

 

“Is it safe to emerge from the vehicle?” Spock asked quietly. McCoy opened his eyes. Spock was right in front of him, his gaze roaming across his face. He must've gotten a response because next thing Spock retracted the shield and maneuvered himself carefully back onto the seat, leaving McCoy to catch his breath alone.

 

McCoy hadn't noticed closing his eyes, but he opened them when a loud, sharp bang sounded near his head. He looked up and saw Spock bracing himself to deliver a second kick to the door to open it. 

 

The fourth kick did the trick and McCoy took a deep breath of fresh air as it wafted in. “Spock,” he said, his voice surprising him by cracking.

 

Spock paused on his way out of the car, looking down at him. “Yes, Doctor?”

 

“Is anyone hurt?” McCoy whispered, sure that Spock would hear him despite the loud conversations outside.

 

Spock's eyes tightened. “Just the assailant,” he said. He reached a hand down. McCoy took it and accepted the help sitting up. “Are you able to leave the car?” Spock asked.

 

McCoy turned and smiled at him beyond his dizziness. “I'd like nothing better.”

 

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

McCoy was standing by his car having been checked over by some IPPS agent with basic medical training. He'd been told - in an amazing display of deductive logic - that he was in shock but was otherwise unscathed. McCoy was watching the semi conscious man on the ground a few car parks away. There were two IPPS agents standing over him discussing their next step. Spock was next to him, on the phone with his supervisor again. 

 

As McCoy watched the agents pulled out a hypo and knelt down to administer it. McCoy was moving before he noticed, taking long strides to reach the scene before the hypo was injected. 

 

He knocked the agent's hand away. “What's in that?” he asked. The agent stared at him in response. McCoy grabbed the hypo out of his hand and studied the label.  _ Midazolam _ . “You know if you give him this he won't remember anything that happens for the next two to six hours,” McCoy said.

 

“Doctor McCoy!” Spock's unmistakable voice shouted at him. McCoy didn't bother turning, instead he rested one hand on the man's wrist, the other against his neck. He wasn't checking for heart rate, just regular beats. Irregular heart rate would rule out any drug that wasn't intended atrial fibrillation.

 

McCoy was wrenched away, but not before feeling a few beats. His heart seemed fine as far as McCoy could tell. McCoy was spun around and came face to face with Spock. His eyes were wide and panicked and McCoy found himself admiring their shade of brown.

 

Spock seemed to not know what to say, he was furious. His hands held McCoy's shoulders tightly, shaking. “I'm a better trained doctor than anyone else here, let me check him,” McCoy said softly.

 

Spock shook his head. “No.  _ No _ .” 

 

McCoy indicated the groaning man on the ground. “He's barely lucid, I'm not in danger.”

 

“I am still charged with your protection, and you will not leave me so helpless that I cannot get in the way should he-” Spock stopped. “No,” he said simply. 

 

McCoy batted his arms away in exasperation, stepping back. Spock had managed to arrange them so that Spock stood between McCoy and the man, so McCoy found himself stepping further away. 

 

“Alright,” McCoy said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just one last thing.” He leaned around Spock and called out to the agents behind him. “Hey, his heart’s ok, but check him for a concussion before you drug him up. And nothing he says in the next six hours is admissible in court, so if you get a confession you damned well better get it again when he's sober.”

 

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

McCoy turned to Spock. “So what happens now?” he asked.

 

They stood in his kitchen, the trip home from the scene having been waylaid by only thirty minutes after the attempted assassin had been carted off because McCoy had wanted to check every bystander for injuries. As a peace offering Spock had allowed this. Spock had told him that he was recommended to accept protection for another two hours after the suspect was detained, the time being so short only because he had been detained alive, conscious, and undrugged the interrogation would quickly reveal if he were working alone. Until then, McCoy had company. 

 

“In one hour and twelve minutes my supervisor will call to tell me my mission is complete,” Spock said, “She will give me the rest of the day and night to rest, then tomorrow I will have a lot of paperwork to fill out.” He paused and glanced at the ground, then back to McCoy. Spock seemed stiffer than usual, standing at attention.

 

McCoy nodded, working out in his head how he could invite Spock to the pub with Jim and Scotty in the next hour and a quarter. “Why are you here instead of Chekov?” he asked. It was strange having Spock in his house again, it put him on edge.

 

“Agent Chekov hasn't attended an interrogation before, it's an important part of his training.” Spock paused, thinking for a moment. “Also, I requested to be assigned to this,” he added.

 

McCoy frowned. “Why?”

 

“In just over an hour and ten minutes I will be formally off duty and will, with permission, kiss you,” Spock said quietly

 

McCoy felt his brain stutter. He stared at Spock, amazement clear on his face. “Kiss me?” he repeated weakly.

 

“With permission,” Spock said with a nod.

 

McCoy paused to think. He found that he did not think, he just mindlessly listened to the silence. “You need permission from your supervisor to kiss me?” he asked quietly.

 

“No, I need permission from you to kiss you. May I kiss you in one hour and ten minutes?” Spock seemed to be enjoying McCoy's gobsmacked reaction.

 

“Hell, you can kiss me now,” McCoy said, putting the glass he held down. He hadn't even gotten around to filling it with water.

 

Spock's lips twitched in a quickly gone smile. “In the interests of keeping my job, I'm going to wait.”

 

“I won't tell anyone!” McCoy said. Spock was still standing a solid meter away, and McCoy certainly couldn't be the one to walk over to him, he needed the kitchen bench underhand to keep him upright.

 

“Regardless,” Spock said, unabashedly amused.

 

McCoy stood quietly, watching him. Spock wasn't a cruel person, but he was a professional. Slowly he accepted that Spock's rejection earlier in the week had been solely motivated by the Agency’s rules. Which meant that Spock had been dealing with his own emotional turmoil. Which meant that all the times McCoy had made a fool of himself and generally indulged his crush were much less painful. Which meant that Spock wanted him too. After a while, he nodded to himself.

 

“Once I'm off duty I can kiss you?” Spock asked, apparently having been waiting for a cue to speak.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Thank you,” Spock studied him for a moment, and clearly saw something worth noting. “Would you like a drink?” he asked politely.

 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I think I'd better,” he muttered, turning to grab his bourbon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch as i rise from the dead and post a chapter
> 
> the next one isn't finished, but is the last chapter. Clearly I have no schedule, but i do intend to finish this fic

**Author's Note:**

> look honestly chapter two is a fair way off, and chapter eight has like three conversational lines and a very detailed mental plan of what it'll be like, so who knows when that'll actually happen, but i wanted to post now cos happy Valentines!


End file.
